f condolence, that
may have twenty explanations."

He passed his hand over his cropped iron-grey head. "What are you
driving at, Duncan? You know as well as I do--you know more than I do.
I saw it in your face ever since that man opened his mouth."

"If you're so sure of everything," said I foolishly, relaxing grip on
my self-control, "why did you hound him out of the place for a liar?"

He leaped to his feet and spread himself into a fighting attitude, for
all the world like a half-dead bantam cock springing into a new lease
of combative life.

"Do you think I'd let a dunghill beast like that crow over me? Do you
think I'd let him imagine for a minute that anything he said could
influence me in my public duty? By God, sir, what kind of a worm do you
think I am?"

His sudden fury disconcerted me. All this time I had been wondering
what kind of catastrophe was going to happen during the next few hours.
I am afraid I haven't made clear to you the ghastly racket in my brain.
There was the town all beflagged, everyone making holiday, all the pomp
and circumstance at our disposal awaiting the signal to be displayed.
There was the blind conquering hero almost on his way to local
apotheosis. And here were Sir Anthony and I with the revelation of the
man Gedge. It was a fantastic, baffling situation. I had been haunted
by the dread of discussing it. So in reply to his outburst I simply
said:

"What are you going to do?"

He drew himself up, with his obstinate chin in the air, and looked at
me straight.

"If God gives me strength, I am going to do what lies before me."

At this moment Lady Fenimore came in.

"Mr. Winterbotham would like to speak to you a minute, Anthony. It's
something about the school children."

"All right, my dear. I'll go to him at once," said Sir Anthony. "You'll
stay and lunch with us, Duncan?"

I declined on the plea that I should have to nurse myself for a
strenuous day. Sir Anthony might play the Roman father, but it was
beyond my power to play the Roman father's guest.

CHAPTER XX

How he passed through the ordeal I don't know. If ever a man stood
captain of his soul, it was Anthony Fenimore that day. And his soul was
steel-armoured. Perhaps, if proof had come to him from an untainted
source, it might have modified his attitude. I cannot tell. Without
doubt the knavery of Gedge set aflame his indignation--or rather the
fierce pride of the great old Tory gentleman. He would ha